Tabhisms

Wait, wait, WAIT!
You see the whole country of this system is juxtaposition by the haemoglobin in the atmosphere- because you are a sophisticated rhetoration intoxicated by the exuberance of your own verbosity.
My name is Maria Amir…

Having just experienced the post-delight that comes from yet another epiphany long, long overdue: I have a confession to make. I am, what the inimitable ‘they’ call a pseudo-intellectual: not particularly because I don’t know what I’m talking about (although that often happens, because I bear a lamentable tendency to confuse myself more often than I do others) but because I prefer to talk smart. Unless I’m on one of my sugar buzzes. Recently, I have had the long with-held pleasure of watching old Amitabh Bachan films. A much needed experience this cruel Saara Zamaana had prohibited me from during my childhood. By the way, the Pakistani version for cruel Saara Zamaana is "Zaalim Samaajh" (lest I be accused of being a dangerous anti-semite). The confession being…

The two-6-foot-legs-with-head-attached was a comical genius, folks. Seriously. There is an elusive charm that old Indian films and old westerns’ share: an intrinsic disregard for realism, even perverse logic. They are therefore a league unto themselves. When the young Amitabh slaps a man in ‘Sholay’, the said dude dies. Crap! Doth he put Arnie-Hasta-bloody-ass-Lavista to shame? Yep, that he do be. No guns in sight. Plus for some reason, the hero must always display utmost heroism with itsy bitsy guns sans bullets at the most inopportune moments, by resorting to use his fists. Fate it is.
When he says something to the tune of “Rishtey mein to hum tumhaare baap lagte hein!” he meanses, much business – more, perhaps than even De Niro and his “talking to me” mirror. The actual genius of the man, I now realise lies in the old-young, pre monochrome beard version, sans the presently put-on sophishto. It was never cheap: purely because it so blatantly was!
I mean, Dudes and Dudettes, that even Peter O Toole or Pacino’s “go to the mattresses” can in no way trump a blue saari ‘moti biwi, with a Bara naam, who replaces all mattresses ala carte’.
Hun bol, ki kehnda e?

In the infamously made famous “You’ve got mail” Tom Hanks told us of the intrinsic wisdom hidden in the manifold layers of the ‘God Father’. The I Ching of all masculine wisdoms: hence only the trifle few quotes - with mixed days of the week and the Gun replaced by the Canola. But you see, Tabhisms offer a more profound variety of Tapori lifelines, more re-usable than Godfatherisms. For much as we would like, we do not all have the bollocks (I did mean to say balls btw, but sheesh - I’m a ‘lady’, or something to that effect) to kill all at will. Tabhisms have their own diversity. They do, I tell you.

“You see I can talk English, I can walk English, I can laugh English, because English is a very phunny language” - For all of us, and I do mean ALL, who still need to prove a point to our colonial masters. We CAN TALK the English and are working very hard on the laugh and walk, wont you please let us in your great nation?

“Sir, considering the consideration to take the run, the consideration became an ultimatum and ultimately Sir, the consideration was re-considered. In the year 1979, when India was playing Pakistan in Bombay, Wasim Raja and Wasim Bari they were at the crease Sir. And Wasim Bari gave the same consideration to Wasim Raja and Wasim Raja told Wasim Bari “Look Sir, this ultimately has to end in a consideration which I cannot consider. Therefore the consideration that you are giving me must be considered very ultimately”. Therefore, Sir, in the run that they were taking Wasim Raja told Wasim Bari “Wasim Bari you take the run” and ultimately both of them ran and considerately they both got out. SIR!"
– Lightening speed delivery for whenever your boss doubts your command over the English Language or whenever he or she already has a headache and you want the rest of the day off. OR as a mere tribute to Wasim Raja who has recently left us and was very considerate.

“The race is ready to go” – for every time you have not yet completed a task you were supposed to.

“Aap andar se kuch aur, baahar se kuch aur nazar aate hein. Ba Khudaa, shakal se to CHOR nazar aate hein. Umar guzri he saari chori mein, saare sukh chein band zulm ki tajori mein. Aap ka to lagta he bas yehi sapna”Ram Ram jagna, paraaya maal apna” - for every politician you have met and have yet to meet.
Exclusion clause: The following statement is to be uttered out loud in the presence of powers that BE- only in a state of heightened drunkenness OR during a suicide mission.

“Khaike paan banaaras waala, khul jaae bandh akal ka taala” – A small price to try. Definitely worth a shot if it means breaking said taala.

“Daddu Tum?” – For when death comes a knocking. And you are momentarily speechless - having forgotten and misplaced, the exuberance of your inherent verbosity.

“My name is Anthony Gonzales (to be replaced with said or yet unsaid, proper noun/s). Mein Duniya mein akela hun. Dil bhi he Khali, Ghar bhi he Khali - is mein rahe gi koi kismet waali. Jisse meri yaad aaye, jab chaahe chali aaye. Roop mein he Prem Gali, Gholli number # 420. Excuse me please?” – Without a doubt the MOST original and creative pick up line ever.

“Maula kabhi mujhe chorna kabhi nahin,
Bhoola Tera ehsaan mein kabhi nahin. Kiya tu ne jo manaa kiya, kabhi naheen. Kabhi kisi ko phansaaya he kabhi naheen”. – A sycophant’s prayer. Maula I can personally vouch for the last part.

“YAMMA YAMMA!” – A desi’s barbaric YAWP to hail life with Carp-e-diem proclamations.

“In the English, the Bhairoon becomes a Baron and the Baron becomes Bhairoon because their minds are very narrow” – Now 'aint that the truth?

“Tumhaara kya naam he, Basanti?” _ “Ji Maria, Saahib”. I like to think this one was meant for me, not that I have a tonga or any remote aspirations to wed Dharmindar. Neither, do I harbour any subsequent regrets over not having done so.

‘Mere Angaane mein tumhaara kya kaam he? Jo he naam waala wo hi to badnaam he”. – Roughly translated: Mind your own damn business, F****** Asshole.

“Apni to Jese tese. Thodi aese ya vaise- Kat jaaye gi.
Aap ka kya ho ga, Janaab-e-Aali?” – The ‘Que sera sera’ matra for all the Lawaris’s of this ‘world he na world’.

“Lo kal lo bat” – The illegally blonde synonym for “Whatever”.

I thereby claim that this ancient Tapori gospel, despite its warped machismo, trumps the western version of un-fairy like God fathers. Times are a changin’ my friends amd 'us', wherever-the-hell-borned-still-forever-confused-desis (WTHBSFCD) have gots- ta- stick together and realign our minglish’s and mojo’s (couldn’t help it) eastward.

Keh diya na. BAS!

What a wonderful world!

I have never been here before.
At this oh-so mysterious hidden corner of my Hyde. I have never known a comfort zone that i have not had to manufacture. But there it is, at probably the most inopportune moment, in the midst of a Warwick University interview with an alleged (as in allegedly that is his name) Stephen Williams, talking about writing and art. I have never thought myself capable of breaking into song in 'public', the other variety is my very own insubordinate Casa'. But so be it.
Today i am more than the sum of my many alter-go's. I am Quasimodho, with the big-ass swollen lump of an optic-aid and a day of freedom: no gargoyles in sight except in the looking glass.
"So what kind of music do you like?"
Mostly accoustic rock.
" No oldies?"
Definitely. Armstrong is a genius.

Lo and behold! We- alleged Stephen and I, both break into a very vamped version of "What a wonderful world". And no dawdling single verse for us, oh no! I the interviewee and he the interviewer- a great divide indeed: break into a Calliope sonata.

"Maria, it really is a pleasure to meet someone like you. Unexpected, and a pleasure."


Fore- epiphany to fore-self: I just sang at an interview. I am a 'true' flake, as of today.

*After-epiphany to after-self*
It is a pleasure to meet me. Unexpected, but I am truly delighted Maria.

* After-epiphany to all selves: Perhaps the next interview calls for a 'King and I' reference.
Shall we Dance?
1-2-3 AND!

Backseat Boulevard

I am at loggerheads with myself. These are the days...the ones when I look in the mirror and see a different outfit, not the clandestine hues I wore 4 years ago, the bruises washed down with smiles and songs. I see color, but the face... that is still the same.
These are the days when I see the weakness in me.
Moreover I know it.
It smirks at me in the mirror capped in blue eye shadow and glitter earrings that I conjured up the night before with dried paint and copper yarn. Today I know that I am a shit load of talk and a heap of no goes. Tall dreams - thats what he said. "Thats all you are Maria, a silly girl who dreams and doesn't know how to 'DO'". Today I fear he may be right. His voice is louder today. Not the nocuous buzzing of 'as per usuals'. But hope springs eternal in Silly-girl-who-dreams-Land. A half-full glass of dapple vinegar. One last gulp to go.

Tomorrow is another day
on Backseat Boulevard.
Another corner at carwash dreams.
A new ode to left over casseroles in the fridge .
A last look at my rainbow poncho,
unravelling at the seams

Corrections for the "politically correct"

I stumbled accross something today. Amidst the myriad of letters I go through, that defines to the hilt, my un-affirmed journalista' non-aspirations, my vocational training and my current Job description. It seems of late that new rules of political correctness, have been devised by 'civilised countries' and the UN. Majority of these rules form cleverly concealed ad-libs for so-called democracy. But the developing countries of the world should take care to make a note, nevertheless. As should I.

Rule 1: In the Middle East, it is always the Arabs that attack first, and it's always Israel that defends itself. This is called "Retaliation".

Rule 2: The Arabs, whether Palestinians or Lebanese, are not allowed to kill Israelis. This is called "Terrorism".

Rule 3: Israel has the right to kill Arab civilians, this is called "Self-Defence" or these days "Collateral Damage".

Rule 4: When Israel kills too many civilians. The Western world calls for restraint. This is called the "Reaction of the International Community".

Rule 5: Palestinians and Lebanese do not have the right to capture Israeli military, not even a limited number, not even 1 or 2. This is called "Kidnapping".

Rule 6: Israel has the right to capture as many Palestinians as it wants. There is no limit; there is no need for proof of guilt or trial. This is called "War on Terrorism".

Rule 7: When you say "Hezbollah", always be sure to add "supported by Syria and Iran". This is called the "Axis of Evil".

Rule 8: When you say "Israel", never say "supported by the USA, the UK and other European countries", for people (God forbid) might believe this is not an equal conflict. This is called "Helping our Friends".

Rule 9: When it comes to Israel, don't mention the words "occupied territories", "UN resolutions", "Geneva conventions". This could distress the audience and is called "Anti-Semitism".

Rule 10: Israelis speak better English than Arabs. This is why we let them speak out as much as possible, so that they can explain rules 1 through 9. This is called "Neutral Journalism".

*Golden Rule*
If you do not agree with these rules or if you favour the Arab side over the Israeli side, you are in all probability, a very dangerous anti-Semite. You may even have to make a public apology like Mel Gibson. This is called "Democracy".

Fortune fairy

Today's fortune: If your desires are not extravagant they will be granted

Not in all the lands and all the Kingdoms has a thought more depressing been voiced. Yet the peripheral forum for us socially retarded took up the mallet. Thank you, Orkut for the extended reverie, cut brutally short! Your reality check shall not dwindle, nor shall it be forgotten.

Fairy Fairy quite contrairy
Dont let my dream castles grow
Bash them down and slather them round,
And put on a fabulous show!

Little Mermaid Diary

Entry: October,1991
Night Time.

Dear Diary,
I have decided that I want to fall in love now.
And I have decided that I want to be in love with Prince Eric.
I think I will marry him when I grow up.There are three reasons why I picked Prince Eric over all the other princes.
1) He has Green eyes
2) Ariel already has Sebastian and Flounder, and she shouldnt have all three. Yesterday when I wanted to go to Yummy's 36, Baba said that we cant have everything and too much of anything is bad for you. I think he's wrong, but I still dont think Ariel should get everything, as she already has red hair and is an under-the-sea princess.
3) Prince Eric doesnt wear girly blouses and tights like all the others AND he has a dog.

(Barring Yul Brynner and Johnny Depp, I stand by my decision. I do want to marry Prince Eric when I grow up.)

Malice in Yonderland

Backed into yet another corner by niggling doubt.
I believe today is the day to revisit my amorality. It's been a while, but I am sure that I can manage if I so choose. How does a vehement prude discard her scruples for the sake of some semblance of insanity?
A tango to tangle with an unknown tomorrow. That is all I ask of today.
Just enough of a shove to allow my head and heart to realign with the revised morals of a sacrament as old as time " a wasted youth better by far than a wise and productive old age".
I find myself deep in the midst of the solicitous yearning to prove myself. Most definitely unchartered waters. Unfortunately this particular brand of 'wish' merits an audience. Sowing the seed of consequence, it seems, no longer squanders a fate foretold...it only maps it. Naked on a stage for a spotlight? If that be the case, then so be it.
The impetus of my action once again bears the brundt of paternity. They say that every step we take is formed by our fathers left foot and our mother right. There is thereby, little wonder in the fact that I walk in shoeboxes, consistently colliding with myself. I dance circles around my potential and a rather remarkable fox trot over my tenacity.
My chronic curse remains to piroutte my verbs around alien nouns and gremlin faces. However, I have experienced an epiphany of sorts, shared with 'Material Girl' Madonna and a pack of MnM's, post midnight to a Blue moon: to frame my renewed disenchantment. A call to arms and amorality. I resolve as of now, to conveniently solicit my "to do's" with fervent fanaticism and yes, at present, a not-so-blatant expense of roadblocks and hitchikers. It is about time I excercised some passion! If not for mortals than for Mermaids, Matadors and Medusa's.

I hereby, solemnly swear on the salvages of my wavering conscience and all my religions- to raise Heaven and Hell on scroll as I see fit.

Anticipating unprecedented Malice in Yonderland.
So let it be written.
Let it be Done.

Good girls go to Heaven- Meatloaf

Good girls go to heaven
But the bad girls go everywhere

When the wind is howling through your window pane
It's not the only pain of the night
You're burning up in your bed, you got a fever of love
And there's not an anti-body in sight

Hey Jenny, Jenny, why are you crying?
There's a beauty of a moon in the sky
But I guess when you've been leading such a sheltered life
You never lift your head and look so high
You don't have a lot,
but it's all that you've got
And you can turn it into more than it seems
Just give it a shot,
Fantasize every movement
And imagine every inch of your dream

No one said it had to be real
But it's gotta be something you can reach out and feel
nowIt ain't right, it ain't fair
Castles fall in the sand and we fade in the air

And the good girls go to heaven,
But the bad girls go everywhere
Somebody told me so, Somebody told me now I know
Every night in my prayer, I'll be praying that the
Good girls go to heaven,
But the bad girls go everywhere

When the sweat is sizzling on your skin in the dark
And you're desperate now for somewhere to turn
Every muscle in rebellion, every nerve is on edge
And every limb has been erotically burned

Hey Johnny, Johnny, why are you shaking?
When a boy should do whatever he can
You've been nothing but an angel every day of your life
And now you wonder what it's like to be damned

Every time I try and dream you,
I can't believe how hard it's been to
Conjure up your face And trace your body in the air
All the seconds go on forever,
But the thirds and fourth ones are even better
Everytime I do it just a little bit longer
Everytime I dream,It's just a little bit stronger than real life
No one said it had to be real
But it's gotta be something you can reach out and feel, now!

It ain't right, it ain't fair
Castles fall in the sand and we fade in the air
And the good girls go to heaven,
But the bad girls go everywhere
Somebody told me so,
Somebody told me now I know
Every night in my prayer,I'll be praying that the
Good girls go to heaven